


i miss the way you make me feel

by octaviuh



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Break Up, M/M, Make Up, Post College? I guess, Recreational Drug Use, artist!Connor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 22:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12803361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octaviuh/pseuds/octaviuh
Summary: Connor’s laughter filled the sunlit room. He was grinning at Evan, who now had blue paint from his forehead to his nose. Evan was mustering his best angry face, even though he, too, was shaking with laughter. It’s all so genuine and happy and Connor doesn’t think he’s ever been filled with this much pure joy.How do you deal with heartbreak? Or, like, how do normal people deal with heartbreak because Connor's pretty damn sure it takes a special kind of crazy to open an entire fucking art gallery with paintings of your ex even though it's been two years.But sometimes the only way to deal with pain is to get it all out and give it to other people and hope they have a better way of dealing with it than you do.-Or, the one where it has to get worse before it gets better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> canon-typical warnings for mental illness apply to the whole fic because the boys are still a mess 
> 
> also sections written in italics indicate the past

_Connor’s laughter filled the sunlit room. He was grinning at Evan, who now had blue paint from his forehead to his nose. Evan was mustering his best angry face, even though he, too, was shaking with laughter. He stands and moves for the yellow paint behind Connor, grabbing the brush and dragging it down through Connor’s hair onto his cheek. Connor pushes him away, grabbing for the paint brush, pulling it from Evan by the tip and smearing the leftover paint on Evan’s arm._

_“Fuck, stop,” Connor says, laughing and trying to deflect Evan smearing the yellow paint back onto him. “What happened to ‘I promise you won’t even know I’m here if you let me in’” Connor mocks Evan’s pouty face from a few weeks prior when Connor had shown him his art room. But Evan’s one step ahead of him, smearing red paint down Connor’s jaw line._

_“You started this, remember? You wheeled yourself over here.” Evan reminds him as Connor goes for his hand and effectively gets red paint smudged all down his arm._

_It’s all so genuine and happy and Connor doesn’t think he’s ever been filled with this much pure joy. It’s a bit of an odd moment to feel so sappy, but it gives him an idea._

_He presses his forehead to Evan’s suddenly and kisses him, both of them still smiling. Evan wraps his hands around Connor’s waist and Connor puts one hand on Evan’s cheek, but reaches one behind him to the palette. He smears his hand through it before touching it to the side of Evan’s cheek. Evan’s mouth drops almost immediately, but Connor follows through with the kiss._

_“Didn’t know you had an art kink,” Evan says teasingly when he finally pulls away, foreheads still pressed together. There’s a tiny mark of paint from Evan’s cheek that found its way to Connor’s and he smiles at how much of a mess they are._

_“Shut up, oh my god,” Connor mumbles, exasperated and maybe a little bit embarrassed, but still laughing._

-

Connor let the brush strokes flow naturally. His hands moved slowly and steadily, putting another, much lighter coat of green paint on top of the previous one. 

The room was quiet aside from music quietly playing from his phone speakers and the occasional sound of his brush being dipped in water. The lighting was low and the streetlight outside had burnt out just a few days ago by some lucky miracle. The room itself was a bit messy, justifiably, though, because Connor had been working hours on end all week to finish his works for his new gallery opening. 

Connor took a deep breath when he heard footsteps padding down the hall. He cleaned his brushes and closed his paint set before swiveling around on his chair. He pressed his fingertips along underneath his eyes to wake himself up. His tired bones cracked with every movement as he stood and began stepping over cloths and brushes on his way to the door. 

He shuts off the lights and opens the door just enough to slip out, shutting it tightly behind him. 

“Hey,” Brian says, startled Connor when he looks up and is nearly inches from his face. He backs up until he feels the cold door handle against his back. 

“Why are you up?” He doesn’t intend for the words to sound harsh, but the they feel alien coming out of his mouth because he hasn’t talked all night. It hits him all at once just how tired he is.

“Are you coming to bed?” Brian asks instead of answered him. His voice is dry and goes well with his bored expression. 

If Connor wasn’t so tired, this tone would make him angry. The entire situation is irritating, because Brian knows Connor needs to finish this, and he knows Connor’s hates being interrupted, and yet here he is, doing just that. 

“This is important,” is all Connor responds with. 

“So I’ve heard,” Brian drawls, “Not like I would know.” 

Of fucking course is all Connor can think. He shakes his head at first towards Brian, but eventually more towards the idea as to why he can’t talk about this. His art, his studio, everything that he hates discussing and would probably never feel comfortable talking about. Especially with Brian. He tries his best to get it all out of his head.

“Jesus, can’t you just respect that I can’t-” 

“You don’t want to-” Brian interjects. 

“I can’t. I told you I’m not ready.” Brian huffs at Connor’s words and his strong-willed attitude. 

“You’d be ready if you wanted to be, if you trusted me,” Brian jabs. 

“I could trust you if I got to see you more than a couple hours twice a week,” Connor says, dragging his hands down his face. “If you could fit me in your damn schedule.” 

“Half of the times I ask you out you say no.” Brian crosses his arms pointedly. 

“Yeah, because it’s always work bullshit, with your shitty friends with no personality and nothing to talk about but work, and when you tell them I’m an artist they look at me like a fucking teenager.” Connor crosses to the kitchen and fills a glass of water before hopping on the counter. Brian paces after him with a determined look. 

“Sucking up to people is my job, Connor, I have to kiss people’s ass to make connections. Not everyone can just fuck around with some crayons and count on their parents for rent.” 

Connor stares at Brian like he cannot believe he just said that, and Brian stares back with a similar expression, but also filled with regret. 

“I... fuck Connor I didn’t… I didn’t mean that.” But Connor’s shaking his head, and he puts his glass on the counter as hard as he can without it breaking and balls his fists and for a moment he’s not sure if he’s going to snap. And for a couple seconds, he’s positive he has. The fear in Brian’s eyes fills him with anger, because he’s my fucking boyfriend why’s he so scared, but then he feels sick. This isn’t who he is. Even if Brian is looking at him like he’s some crazy monster, he worked so hard for so long to get past that. He’s allowed to be angry, but he unclenches his fists and focuses on taking a deep breath. 

“Fucking leave,” Connor spits through gritted teeth. 

His eyes are full the second Brian walks past him, and by the time he hears the door click shut he’s crumpling to the floor. 

He let himself cry for a good while. 

But the truth was, he didn’t care about Brian. He didn’t care about dating him or hurting him, he felt nothing towards him, but he did occupy some of the empty space Connor had. 

The thing he couldn’t get a grasp on was that look. The fear that Connor was going to hurt him. That look was the same on everybody. And Connor had worked so fucking hard to get people to stop looking at him like that. He hadn’t seen that look in a while. The last time he had seen it was enough for him to never want to see it again in his entire life. 

So Connor sat there. He tried to forget the panic and the fear that he made people feel and he tried to shake off the sick feeling that sat in the pit of his stomach. 

The sky was fading into a deep purple by the time he’d given up hope. He slipped a joint from his nightstand and pulled a cushioned chair next to the only window that opened more than an inch in his apartment. He smoked and he waited and waited until finally the sun had risen and he was high enough that he didn’t care and he fell directly into his bed and was asleep within a minute. 

-

Connor woke to a pounding on his door. He was disoriented as hell and was sure it was at least past noon by now.  
“Fuck off,” he groaned, not loud enough to do any good. 

“Connor, wake up!” Zoe shouted through the door. He groaned again, but there was definitely an internal thank god accompanying it because god knows if Connor would have actually woken up on his own. 

“Jesus fuck.” was the first thing Zoe said to him when he opened the door. “Dude, you reek, are you high? It’s almost two, Connor,” Zoe scolded, but then hugged him as she walked in. Connor is so grateful that she constantly checks in on him, even if he feels guilty about how much time she takes making sure he’s okay. He’d definitely be worse off if she didn’t. 

“I… yeah. I had a fight with Brian and I got high and passed out and I don’t even know where my phone is, I’m sorry.” 

Apologizing when he made mistakes without being self-deprecating was something he was working on. He was making some progress. 

“I brought you lunch, because I figured you didn’t eat,” Zoe said as she began unpacking her bag. “And I brought concealer just in case you hadn’t slept. Which.” She looked pointedly at Connor and he shrugged. “And a hair mask for curls.” She placed it on the table and Connor wasn’t entirely used to affection and care from his family even though he was much closer with them now, so he just smiled and thanked her quietly. 

“Okay, let’s eat so you can shower. Seriously. Please.” And Zoe was serious, but also sort of teasing, so Connor grinned and didn’t even bother bringing up that Zoe only ever brought him food because she wanted Chinese and Alana hated it. He was sure she cared anyway.

-

By the time Zoe had finished running circles around Connor, he was exhausted for her. It occurred to him that she might care more than he does. 

He finished the last piece between showering and getting dressed and Zoe convinced him to let her take it to the gallery so he had more time to get ready. 

He made it on time, though. 

On time as in only a half hour later than he told himself he would get there, but still early enough. 

And it went great. Good. Really good, even. His parents, Zoe, and Alana were the first ones there, of course, and Alana did a very sappy and sentimental toast which everyone sort of chimed into and he had to try very hard to play off the tears in his eyes. But it was just so fucking nice and he never would have expected to be in this position and it’s all a bit overwhelming but it’s still good. 

Brian’s parents arrived before Brian did, and Connor wasn’t even sure if he would because of the fight, so he wasn’t sure what to say when they asked where he was, which was sort of embarrassing but Connor’s parents interrupted before it was painfully awkward. 

Connor’s father made a much bigger deal about the gallery opening than Connor had expected, even so, when a handful of his father’s friends and colleagues piled through the door he got the most ridiculous giddy feeling because that was as close to his father being proud of him he’s ever gotten. 

His mother had invited every family member in the area, which wasn’t much, but she’d also invited everyone in her yoga, spin class, book club, and every other bullshit rich white person club she was in and maybe they didn’t really have an appreciation for art, but showing up was enough. 

But. 

How the _fuck_ do you explain that all of this art is about an ex gay lover?

Like. Without becoming all the talk of the cul-de-sac and potlucks and office gossip. 

Because people like his parents talked. And Connor was bound to be the talk of the gated community after this. Not that it was new to him but. If you weren't a teacher or a doctor or a lawyer or deemed "stable", you might as well have been a serial killer. Connor was sure "artist" would be twisted into what might as well have been the equivalent of joining a cult. 

He’s sure his parents wouldn’t have invited all their snobby friends if they’d known what exactly Connor’s art pertained to, but. They were here. And they were asking _who_ and _why_ and _what was the inspiration?_

Connor thought he might start pulling his hair out, but he gritted through explaining as vaguely as possible until Zoe’s friends from school started showing up. And he was never more grateful to see people his age. Ever. More people trickled in and he stopped being able to recognize them and eventually it was mostly full of people he didn’t know. Which. Felt fucking amazing. 

Brian showed up with “apology flowers” and a bottle of Connor’s favorite wine and cigars, which Connor didn’t like, but Brian did. 

“I invited some friends from work,” Brian said, pouring himself a glass of champagne and kissing Connor’s cheek in passing. “This is… amazing. I’m proud of you.” Brian smiles fondly at Connor and Connor knows he doesn’t love him, but maybe this is enough. 

Or maybe it’s shitty and manipulative that he’s dragging Brian around just so he can get some attention and affection and decent sex. But. So be it. It’s nice enough for now. 

They get caught up in a conversation between Larry and Brian’s parents about work and very professional things that Connor understands well enough but would rather die than discuss. Because. Who actually cares about this shit? 

Brian leaves mid-conversation, saying that he spotted a work friend and was going to bring him over to introduce Connor, so Connor waited sort of dumbly staring at a picture that happened to be a favorite of his. 

It was Evan, obviously. Anyone who knew Evan and the couple of freckles he had on his back and the birthmark on his ribs and the way his hair looked after really good sex would recognize it immediately. And it was incredibly selfish but incredibly true that Connor hoped he was the only one who remembered Evan like this. The only person who could picture this exact scene in his memory well enough to paint it months later. 

The thought made his chest hollow a bit, because of course he wasn’t but. He had to deal with that. And sometimes the only way to deal with that is to paint like thirty pictures in two years all of this boy and everything about him, even if it was just implied, because that’s totally normal and not really fucking creepy. 

But. It was totally fucking creepy, It’s just. Sometimes the only way to deal with pain is getting it all out of you and handing it to other people to deal with. 

When he felt Brian’s arm on his back he was sort of glad Brian was back to pull him out of whatever that was. 

But then.

“Holy _fucking_ shit.” 

And Connor wasn’t even turned around yet, but when he had. _Holy fucking shit_ was right. 

Because. He knew that voice. And he knew the pair of eyes he met standing beside it. And he was positive his blood had frozen or turned to fucking stone.

But it was that fucking look. Fleeting and gone almost instantly, but the fear. It was there. And it fucking hurt. 

Connor didn’t feel his champagne glass fall, but he heard it hit the ground. 

He didn’t feel himself walking or crying and his vision was too blurry to see but he knew that it was cold and he was moving and he wasn’t sure where to. And he was definitely going to throw up or punch something or maybe even both and he just needed to be somewhere so he could. 

He did both. 

His knuckles were bloody from the brick wall he was leaning against and his entire body ached and shook and between the wind and how badly he was shaking, it was nearly impossible to light a cigarette. 

He took deep breathes, even though it hurt in the cold. That’s about the only thing he could control at this point, and he was barely managing it. 

Because. All the progress he had made. All his art and all his pain and every one of his weekly therapy sessions had all just been thrown into the air like fucking confetti at a surprise party thrown for him. And he really hated surprises. 

And the months of coping and not coping blended together so easily now, because one glance for a fraction of a second and Connor couldn’t even pretend to think Evan was some monster who had hurt him. Because he wasn't. 

Even if he had fucking ripped out Connor’s heart and took it all the way across the country. 

Evan could do whatever he wanted with that heart because it was entirely his, all of it. Not a tiny broken piece belonged to Connor. So if Evan wanted to break it one more time. 

So be it. It was his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What was it like to see him?” Alana asked cautiously. 
> 
> “Uh,” Connor’s voice cracked a little. “I don’t. It hurt. I just.” 
> 
> “We don’t have to talk about it, but I don’t want you bottling it up until you see your therapist because you’ve still got the weekend and I know you feel shitty and I don’t want you to be alone and have to deal with all of that.” 
> 
> “It was hard, yanno, because I’ve worked up this image that he was some monster who hurt me and left me—which he did—but he’s not. He was fucking glowing.” 
> 
> Or 
> 
> Alana's a really good friend, and Connor has a lot of talking he needs to do.

Alana was the only person to find him, and _thank god_ because Alana was the best in these kinds of situations. She crouched beside him because the ground was dirty—which he knew but he was a little too busy trying not to freak out to care—and for a moment he didn’t acknowledge her. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t know what to say, either. But Alana always knew what to say. 

“Wanna go home?” she asked quietly. Connor looked at her finally and her eyes were soft and she had a sympathetic smile and Connor didn’t really know what he wanted to do but he wasn’t going to tell her no so he just shrugged. 

Alana patted his shoulder then disappeared for a minute and came back with both of their jackets. Connor gave her a worried glance because he really didn’t want to cause any more of a scene or have people ask questions especially if they knew he was bailing on his own fucking gallery opening. 

Alana shook her head and gave him the same sympathetic look that she couldn’t seem to get rid of. 

“Don’t worry, Zoe’s gonna close up when it’s over. She’s got it under control. I’m not sure if anyone actually saw what happened, I think everyone just assumed someone dropped a glass on accident, but I told everyone involved that you needed some air.” 

And Connor must have looked pathetic, sitting on the cold pavement in a dirty alley, smoking his second cigarette, and trying his best not to cry. Didn’t matter if he did, of course, because he already had been crying and anyone could tell. 

“What about Evan?” He asked. His voice was small and sad and not quite his. Alana pressed her lips together. 

“I’m not sure, Con. He left before I did.” 

“Cool, yeah, it’s better I don’t….” He waved his hands, gesturing the unsaid ‘know’, then he climbed slowly to his feet and let Alana lead him home. 

They didn’t talk the whole way, aside from the game where whenever they saw a dog they pointed it out, and sometimes one of them commented on it if it was especially cute. Which did it’s best at lightening the mood. 

It was dark when they got to Connor’s apartment, even though the walk wasn’t twenty minutes. It was enough to make him want to crawl directly in bed. 

But Alana stayed in his living room while he changed, which was fine, he guessed. At least she was there to prevent him from doing any sort of destructive shit. 

He lingered in his bedroom for a couple of minutes. He didn’t cry. He hoped he might be over that by now. He took his meds and changed his pajama pants six different times to stall. And then he just sat on his bed and took deep breaths. Which. Sort of a shitty coping method for sure, but it helped. He did one of the only meditation techniques that ever helped him: breathe in white, positive thoughts, until it fills your entire body, and breathe out black, negative thoughts, until they’re completely gone. And it sort of helped. 

In. _You have family and friends that love you. A lot of people came to your gallery. A lot of people liked your gallery._

Out. _Evan was there. Evan saw paintings of himself and probably thinks you’re still moping about him. You sort of are still moping about him. Why is Evan back?_

In. _You are an entirely separate person from Evan now and he doesn’t know a lot of things about you. You’ve changed. You’ve grown. You’re getting there._

Out. _Evan looked good. But that doesn’t matter. Evan saw you freak out. Which also doesn’t fucking matter._

He let out the rest of the breath with a sort of frustrated groan because sometimes it was just so hard to gather thoughts like that. But whatever. It sort of helped. 

“Do you want Zoe to come later?” Alana asks, first thing as Connor’s out the door. 

“Uh,” Connor says dumbly. He looks around a little before shrugging. No use talking to Alana and having to catch Zoe up in two hours when all Connor wants to do anyway is sleep. 

“No, I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” Alana nods. 

“Do you want a snack? I’m sure we can Postmates donuts or something.” 

Connor almost smiles. 

They order donuts and milkshakes and wait in a sort of unsure silence. Connor was stalling, definitely, but anyone could tell that they were both thinking of how to approach the subject. 

He kept thinking about the couch. 

Which. 

Weird. It was definitely not the time.

But Evan had fucking insisted they get this couch. And Evan wasn’t one to be very forceful, especially when it came to buying things they needed around the apartment, but he talked about this couch for weeks. Connor understood, it was a really great couch, but Evan didn’t let it go until they finally bought it. 

It was overstuffed and grayish white and looked like it would be scratchy but was actually soft and it was worn only barely from all the binging tv shows and studying and every time Jared slept over and got kicked out of their bed. Which happened more than expected or probably normal. Or the time Evan really wanted to try exhibitionism, but the closest they ever got was leaving the windows open while they fucked on the couch or the other rare but still worth mentioning times. Which. _Best_. Even if it didn’t count as exhibitionism at all (which he definitely never told Evan, though it was pretty implied). 

But Evan was in every piece of this apartment. And Connor worked so hard trying to work him out—he bought new pillows, rugs, towels, comforter, and mugs—but Evan never fucking left. And maybe yesterday Connor could have sat on the counter and not thought about Evan sitting in the same spot, dangling his feet while Connor cooked, or Evan cooking for him, Or Evan wiping icing on Connor’s lips just so he’d have to kiss it off. But that was definitely no longer true. 

And maybe Connor tried to paint Evan everywhere as a sort of last scene or goodbye to that situation, a proper goodbye to him, Connor couldn’t pretend that it never happened, even if it did make it easier. 

Donuts and milkshakes and whatever show Alana put on definitely made it easier, though. And dancing around the subject of why they’re both here doing this was always present in Connor’s subconsciousness, even as he laughed mid-bite into his donut and ended up with chocolate on his nose. 

They finished their shakes and then the episode and Alana paused it before the next one came on. Connor felt a little bit sick because he knew what was coming. 

“What was it like to see him?” Alana asked cautiously. She wasn’t facing him when she asked and she didn’t turn to see him until he broke the silence. 

“Uh,” Connor’s voice cracked a little. “I don’t. It hurt. I just.” He sighed rather dramatically. 

“We don’t _have_ to talk about it, but I don’t want you bottling it up until you see your therapist because you’ve still got the weekend and I know you feel shitty and I don’t want you to be alone and have to deal with all of that.” 

“It was hard, yanno, because I’ve worked up this image that he was some monster who hurt me and left me—which he did—but he’s not. He was fucking glowing.” 

Alana conjured the same smile she’d been giving him all night. 

“And I don’t know how he missed that it was _my_ gallery, or if he knew that it was him in those paintings. And if he didn’t I don’t know how he missed it but I’m trying so hard to be mad at him and I sort of am. It’s not like he knew what he was doing, and if he did that’s really shitty, but he just shows up and throws away all the healing I’ve done and I’m so mad at him for that but I’m also mad because I still fucking love him. Which is completely ridiculous, right? It’s been so long.” Connor might have been talking too loud and angry and his eyes were a bit too full but that was none of his concern right now. 

He hadn’t said that he’d loved him out loud in months. Internally it was always _I don’t love him, I don’t love him, I don’t love him._ It was a mantra of sorts. 

“Connor, you are allowed to love him, but you do need to continue to work past loving him, because it’s only hurting you. Just because you saw him doesn’t mean all your progress is gone. You’ve come so far.” 

Connor just shrugs a bit, “I don’t know, right now I barely feel different from how I didn’t when he left.” 

“Progress isn’t a straight line.” 

“I know, I know, people say that all the time, but it’s so discouraging. And, what, is he back now, too?” 

“I—“ Alana pauses. “Um. Yeah, he and Jared got a place somewhere in Manhattan. Jared was offered a spot leading the IT department at some big insurance or medical business, I guess. The details were sorta muffled, you know, I only heard it through other people.” 

Connor nodded but didn’t respond. 

“The city is so big, Con, you’ll never-“ 

“The city’s only big until you’re avoiding someone.” 

“I know.” Alana took a moment. “Did Brian try to talk to you?” 

“No, I don’t want to—not right now,” Connor said softly. 

“Can I text him? I’m sure he’s worried. He’s only going to worry so long before he shows up.”

Which Connor knew to be true so he nodded. And when she was done she’d given him updates. 

“Zoe said it was a huge success. She practically had to kick people out at midnight.” Connor almost smiled, which was big progress. “I should be heading home, if you think you’re doing a little better. I can stay longer, if you need.” 

“No, thank you for doing this, though. I don’t know—“ He waved his hands again, “You know, what I would have done.” 

Alana hugged him for a moment or two too long, but it was nice and Connor didn’t mind the extra couple of seconds. 

But then she was gone and his apartment felt so big and he felt so small and empty. He wanted to do something. Like maybe smash something, or scream, or cry. He settled on throwing himself into his bed, only slightly dramatically. 

And if he slept, he didn’t know. Time passed so much slower when your heart felt broken. The ache never faded, even if he was asleep. And if he was, it was only for a few minutes at a time. The minutes passed like hours, though, and every time he checked the clock he was only disappointed. 

—

_Connor heard the heavy breathing the second he dropped his bag inside the door._

_“Evan?” He called, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. He slipped of his shoes in a rush and rounded the corner to find Evan on the couch._

_“Evan, Evan, hey,” he whispered, kneeling beside him. Evan was on the couch, tears dripping down his face, staring quite pointedly at his highlighted and organized notebook._

_“What’s up, what’s going on, love?” Connor’s voice was soft and he put an arm on Evan’s, in attempt to comfort him. Which was something Connor never felt good enough at._

_“I was—I was trying to study and I just—“ Evan’s voice caught and Connor felt it in his chest. “I freaked out, I guess.”_

_“Over what?”_

_“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” He sobbed, still trying to gather his breathing, but failing miserably. He wiped his eyes, probably too hard, then continued, “After college, you know, I need a job and it’s so hard to get a job even with a degree, everyone talks about it and it’s not like I’m qualified.”_

_“Hey, hey, look. You have a job, and that will hold you over until you get a job you want. Which you will. We’ve been looking all semester, you’re prepared and qualified. If you see a job you want, you have to go for it.” Connor moved to sit on the couch now that Evan had slightly calm down. He pulled Evan into his chest and kissed his head. “Graduating is scary, but you fucking made it, and I’m so proud of you.” Evan only nodded._

_Five minutes passed and he was asleep on top of Connor. And Connor couldn’t help but frown because he was exhausting himself over finals that he was definitely going to do great on. Connor left him in this exact position before he went to work around eight this morning and now it was past three and there’s no evidence he’d moved all day._

_Sometimes Connor felt like such a small force. Not a force to be reckoned with or even a force to pay attention to. Because he did his best to understand and help Evan, but even after years he still fell short. He knew he couldn’t beat himself up over it, because Evan probably felt the same way when it came to dealing with Connor’s anger, but it didn’t make the feeling any less valid. They worked hard to make the dynamic work between them. But they were so much better together._

_Connor felt himself nodding off not much longer after Evan._

_And he wakes what must be a good while later, because the first thing that hits him is something that smells really fucking good. And the second is the sizzling sound coming from the kitchen._

_“Mm, Ev, are you cooking?” Connor asked from the couch._

_Evan peaked over the breakfast bar and smiled down at Connor, still heavy from sleep, eyes barely open, and hair extremely muffled._

_“Yeah, um, I made soup? And then I accidentally got too much chicken out, so I cooked the rest of it. My mom used to do it a lot,” Evan continued talking as Connor lazily made his way over to the kitchen and sat on what little counter space they had. “And my grandma taught me how to make homemade noodles when I was really young. I didn’t make them tonight, though, that’s a lot of work.”_

_“We should make them sometime,” Connor said, head leaned back against the cabinets, trying his bed not to fall asleep right there._

_“Definitely,” Evan affirmed._

_The best thing about Evan’s stress cooking was that he was a really good cook. He picked up the habit sophomore year when they moved in together, and he wasn’t very good then, and despite being taught how to cook when he was little, he just never really liked it and was always scared of messing things up. Connor could vividly remember turning off the smoke alarm at least ten times just that year._

_But Evan progressed, and now he cooked almost all of the times they ate in. Connor helped a lot, because he didn’t mind it, and Evan was cute when he was sort of cocky because he knew what he was doing. Not that Connor didn’t, but if he pretended to be sort of clueless sometimes, he wasn’t going to mention it._

_Connor hopped off the counter and crossed the kitchen in barely two steps to wrap his arms around Evan’s middle. He placed a kiss behind Evan’s ear almost the exact same time he received a smack on his arm._

_“Careful! You’re gonna burn yourself.” Evan pushed him back, but turned around quickly, his grin matching Connor’s, which was so wide that it almost hurt. Connor initiated the kiss, but Evan was the one to put himself against the counter that wasn’t being cooked on._

_They stayed like that for a minute or so, but Connor was the one to pull back._

_“Your chicken,” he said pointedly, but in a mocking tone._

_“Of course,” Evan matched Connor’s tone. Connor didn’t move right away, but pressed his lips to Evan’s nose for a lingering second._

_“Love you.”_

_“Love you.” Evan kissed him quick, then moved back to the stove to rescue what was salvageable of his chicken. Which. Wasn’t much._

_Connor moved back to his counter, swinging his feet a bit obnoxiously now. He couldn’t be bothered to do anything else but sit and stare. Because. How was it even possible things could be this good?_

—

Two weeks after the gallery opened, Connor got a job. 

Not because he needed to, some of his pieces had been sold in advance for when the gallery closed, but it was so successful they’d added an extra month. And Connor was contacted to illustrate a poetry book. Which wasn’t in the direct future, but was still a really cool thing that had a lot of potential. And he was never one to brag, but he called everyone who’d listen when he finished on the phone with the author. 

Connor mostly got the job to keep everyone from checking up on him twenty-four seven. It was exhausting answering five different people more than once a day just to tell them that, yes, he was still fine, though it had only been a few hours since they last checked. 

He was breathing, at least. 

He wasn’t great or good or okay, but he’d get there.

The job was at a bookstore with an adjoining coffee shop. It was a five minute walk from his house and he signed on full time just so he wouldn’t have time to sit at home and mope. 

This was much better than moping. 

And, even though he made it a point that his life was his and he never did anything other people wanted him to, he could tell Brian was over the moon that he was getting a job. Getting out of the house. What have you. 

It was owned by two sisters, older women who were very liberal and had pictures of themselves at protests since the 70’s hanging all around the shops. They were also very well read, and before Connor had gotten the job, he shopped there quite a bit because their recommendations were always the best, because they’d actually read the books, not just heard about it from their best friend or professor or read about it online. 

He worked in both the bookstore and the coffee shop, just so he could ensure that he was getting the most hours possible. Which he was. The stores were understaffed, mostly because the sisters found it hard to trust people they hadn’t known, and they only wanted people who cared about the job. 

Working the bookshop was Connor’s favorite, because he rarely had to talk to people, and he could go through books himself when he was supposed to be organizing them. It was a peaceful environment. 

The best days were when he had a lot of books to put on the shelf, because the work was tedious and he didn’t really have to think while he shoved them in slots. 

The coffee shop wasn’t his favorite. But it was nice enough and there were a lot of loyal customers who he eventually grew excited to seeing daily. 

Today, he was the only one working the bookstore. It was cold, so he wore a heavy sweater with his black jeans. He was on his second cup of hot chocolate, sitting behind the register, reading a Cheryl Strayed novel. It was by far one of the coziest days he’s had in awhile.

It wasn’t busy. It was the middle of a Wednesday, and Connor was hopeful that he would finish his shift before business picked up. 

He’d adjusted the books on display and put a few books on the shelves and settled back for the mostly quiet rest of his shift. 

Mostly. 

When Connor reached the halfway point of his book, he was expecting the bell above the door to chime at any minute. He only had fifteen minutes left of his shift and the minutes felt like they were dragging. When the door finally jingled, he perked up immediately. 

But. 

It wasn’t one of the sisters or anyone who’d worked at the bookstore. And it definitely wasn’t a customer. 

But it definitely was a boy in khakis and a Jurassic Park t-shirt and a heavy jacket that looked similar to one Evan used to wear. 

But it wasn’t Evan, it was Jared. 

And it totally wasn’t weird, because they talked, they were friends. They wished each other a happy birthday. 

Except it couldn’t have possibly been a coincidence that he showed up here, which sort of did make it weird.

“Hey, Connor,” Jared drawled, in the sort of sing-songy way that was so familiar on him. 

“Um. Hi?” Connor said cautiously, leaning forward in his chair as Jared leaned his elbows on the counter. “Can I do something for you?” 

He was a little nervous and a lot skeptical. 

“I think we could probably use a little chit-chat, don’t ya think?” Connor wondered for a minute if Jared always talked like that. It took him three seconds of direct eye contact to realize that Jared looked extremely uncomfortable. Like, two wrong words or an extra five seconds of staring and he was going to book it out the door, kind of uncomfortable. 

“I get off in, like, ten minutes. Go next door and get me and green tea and I’ll be over as soon as someone shows up.” Connor cut him some slack, because he sort of wanted to know what the fuck he was doing here. 

Jared only nodded, maybe a little put off by Connor’s flat tone, but nothing notable.

If the minutes were dragging before, they were standing still now. 

And finally, _finally_ , when someone did show up, Connor barely even said hello to them before grabbing his things and all but running to the coffee shop. 

He was nervous and sick and a little bit terrified, but he had to know why Jared was here. Not that he didn’t, technically, because it wasn’t that hard to put together, but he was definitely ignoring that and playing stupid. 

He sat down, staring as his green tea more than anything, and didn’t look up for a full minute. 

“Hello? Anyone home?” Jared asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” Connor shook himself out of the daze he was in. “Sorry.” He played with his hair just barely, something he only caught himself doing when he was really uncomfortable. But he didn’t know why he was so uncomfortable. He and Jared were friendly, at least a little bit. They talked on birthdays and Connor wished Jared a happy Hanukkah and Jared wished Connor a happy Hanukkah and a merry Christmas. It never went farther than that, but it was enough. 

“Don’t worry. I’m just doing my best to be serious here.” 

“Okay,” Connor prompted when it was clear Jared was waiting for affirmation. 

“I, uh, wanted to apologize for the whole art show thing. Brian invited me and I just didn’t make the connections, man, I’m sorry.” 

Connor nodded. It wasn’t okay, he wasn’t going to say that it was. He was still kind of angry about that. 

“How’s Evan?” He asked before he could bite his tongue or take a sip of his tea or even process the words in his mind. They just came out. And now they were hanging there. In the middle of this painfully awkward conversation. 

“You really wanna know?” Jared asked. 

_No, no, no._

“Yes.” 

“He’s been better, definitely. I—that was—it was a little weird for him to make the connection that those paintings were him. He was pretty bad for a couple days. We just couldn’t go down that road again, yanno? So he’s okay now, working more, but almost like normal.” 

Maybe it hurt that Evan bounced back so quickly, but Connor couldn’t help feeling a little better that it hurt Evan, too. Or, effected him, at least. Which sounded so shitty. It hurt that Connor hurt him, but he was relieved to know things weren’t okay for Evan, either, in that department. 

But it was weird seeing Jared so serious. Connor felt like he was in trouble, almost. He wasn’t, he knew, but it was a bad feeling. 

It was also a little bit nice, knowing that Evan had someone like Jared. Jared really, really cared about Evan, which was much easier to see from the outside, Connor realized. 

“I just—I don’t want either of you getting hurt again. But, I feel like there’s things you need to talk about. Obviously, if you’re not okay with that then forget I mentioned it but. Just. Through the grapevine I heard that you weren’t doing so well after it, either.” 

Connor shook his head, “I’m fine.” 

But Jared looked at him. Like, really looked at him. Real and vulnerable and they were probably both bordering pathetic, but he knew bottling it up wouldn’t help. 

“I didn’t want to see him, if you couldn’t tell. I don’t love him. I don’t love him anymore, it just sucks. The progress and everything,” Connor finally admitted, though it was jumbled and didn’t make a lot of sense. 

“Yeah, yeah, it was mutual, believe me.” 

“I hope he’s alright,” Connor said into his cup as he lifted it to his lips. 

“He’ll get there. You two need to talk, though, dude.” At least Jared finally sounded more like himself. “This is a little bit ridiculous. I know it sucked, but it’s over and you’re both adults, and two years is plenty of time to be all healed up. You have a boyfriend and it’s still bothering you. That’s kinda shitty.” 

“Absolutely fucking not. I’m allowed to mope over whatever I want. And leave my boyfriend out of it.” 

“This isn’t healthy.” 

Connor shot him an annoyed glance. 

“Since when have I ever done anything good for me?” 

Jared countered his look. 

“Do you know how fucking hard that was? Him leaving?” Connor asked. He wasn’t yelling, but he was loud enough that when the coffee grinder turned off, the shop was silent, save for him. “Because I actually fucking lived through it. And it was the worst thing I’ve ever had to survive. And I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t have to talk to him or even see him again. I _do_ have a boyfriend, and we _are_ doing good and Evan can’t just waltz in and decide he gets dig up two year old emotional trauma. It’s not fucking fair.” 

Jared sat back for a moment, visibly a little uncomfortable that the three other customers and barista definitely heard all of that. 

“And that’s exhibit A of why you both need some closure. Or to talk, at least. But I’m not going to beg. You have every right to do whatever the fuck you want,” Jared says as he stands, trying to avoid the glances he knows he’s getting. 

He zips his jacket and fixes his scarf before grabbing his cup. He quickly scribbles on the back of a napkin before folding it and placing it in front of Connor. 

Connor doesn’t move until he hears the door shut. 

He knows what it is before he opens it. 

Evan’s number. 

Like he could have forgotten it.

He folds it and shoves it in his pocket before leaning back and letting out a shaky breath. 

He was so fucking angry. 

Jared, of all people, didn’t have the right to show up where he worked, tell him that he needed to talk to Evan, who hurt him very badly, and cause a scene. Even if it was technically Connor who caused the scene. 

His brain just wasn’t working. Every thought cut off before it was finished. 

He needed to tell Alana, but he also could talk to Evan, but he was absolutely not doing that, but he sort of wanted to, but he absolutely couldn’t, and he probably should talk to Brian because. Well. Boyfriend and all. But he didn’t even want to. Even if they were okay and Brian even seemed a little more interested in him since he got a job and the whole gallery opening. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. 

In fact, that’s what he decided to do. 

Just because he _should_ do something has never influenced him up to this point and he’d gotten this far. 

So, he ordered his fourth drink for the day, a camomile tea to try to calm his nerves, and he pulled his book from his bag. 

Because what the fuck else was there to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all sorry i'm a garbage human i hope this slightly longer chapter helps!! school is kicking my ass and so is my mental health lmao and its muscial season now (we're doing footloose!!) so who tf knows when the next chap will be up but i'm doing my best. please point out if you see any mistakes/consistency issues, i think i have about one brain cell left. 
> 
> my tumblr is lgbtmurphys please come validate me, validating the authors work is the easiest way to get new content, I Promise 
> 
> also, some context, i put postmates in here bc i fuckin love it and downloaded it in may to use at the 1975 concert and it didn't work well in my city so i waited like 8 months and used it in nyc and it was best day also that cheryl strayed ref bc i'm reading tiny beautiful things and its so so so good and i highly recommend

**Author's Note:**

> first fic in years ayyyy hopefully you guys like it!! it's probs gonna end up being 7 or so chapters with most of the chapters being significantly longer than this one


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